I'd determined that in the New Year (wot is Aught Eight), I would post less frivolous, more entertaining and substantial entries to this LJ. Thus far, I'm failing miserably. My life, it would seem, is entirely frivolous, unentertaining and insubstantial. In the past few days, I've considered posting such gripping accounts as "Taking the Slow Cooker for a Test Drive!" and "The kitties are sniffling and gagging again, but, upon consideration, they might be improving!" or "One wall in our living room is now Hunter Green!"
You see what I'm up against.
So. In brief: still ten to fifteen pounds overweight. Still teaching kickboxing twice a week (not yet getting paid the teeny amount I'll ultimately get since I'm In Training) and making every effort to actually attend class at least that often. Not writing as much as I ought, but writing more than I was this time last year. House is a mess; must remedy before A. stays over Friday next. Voice is a mess. Must hope with all fervency that somehow, miraculously, I am gifted with the vocal talents of Karen Matheson. Or anyone but me, really. I'm good (read: "can live with my moderate skills") with most songs, but I do not want 'Distant Drums' to tank. Still having issues with psoriasis, and anyone who makes a lighthearted joke about 'the heartbreak of...' may very well be on the receiving end of my killer right cross.* I miss hanging out with my sister. I'm worried about my mom.
And I know - oh, I know! - that I'm being Whingey McCrankeyPants. You can call me on it; I'll fully agree. These things aren't all that important in the greater (and, frankly, in the lesser) scheme of things. Sometimes I just need to vent.
Lest you think I've lost every shred of Pollyanna-ness, there are happy things! I may not yet be getting paid to instruct, but people are already asking after when I'm teaching kickboxing. Woohoo! There were deer grazing in the woods behind my house tonight, and there was the most beautiful woodpecker visiting the suet feeder. My one-eyed kitten continues adorable, and the older kitties are tolerating her. Isabeau even played with her for a while yesterday (they were separated by a curtain; 'twas all flailing paws and adorableness). My husband is... well, he's wonderful. Really. Stubborn, tenacious, infuriating, handsome, sweet, romantic and supportive. Winter sunsets are breathtakingly beautiful from our back deck. Splitting wood with a maul is both badass and zen. Though I waffle over Faire stuff, still!, I know this: I was an excellent, rock-solid talented jouster, a damned good fighter, a decent actress, entertaining performer, and - for a time - a heroine. And I might hate working retail, but I am a rockin' kick ASS bookseller.
*as if I'd actually hit anyone. but really, I punch HARD, and with rather terrible (or wonderful, depending on your view) accuracy. just so's you know.